Awakening
by daniellemcfarlane
Summary: When the fog clears, what will be left?
1. chapter 1

A/N: this idea has been spinning inside my head for a while now. I was going to just let it go but it won't let me be, so here is my attempt to bring it to life. I hope you enjoy.

If one was able to look in on the two of them all would have appeared to be normal. An older man lovingly holds a young woman close to him while the soft melody of a piano pulls their bodies to its gentle song. The girl rests her head against him as they move. All appearances on the outside show a state of ease and calm.

What the outside observer cannot see is the turmoil that has abruptly entered Clarice Starlings mind. She has just resurfaced from what feels like a lengthy dream. Her mind is still foggy with the remnants of its siren song. Suddenly she has been pulled from her state of tranquility in to the waking world. She feels the dress against her skin. She is immediately aware of how small she feels in the circle of Hannibal's arms.

He notices the change in her immediately. From the outside he remains unshaken. He has mastered the skill of keeping himself stone like on the surface when his insides are in chaos. Will the woman in his arms cry out? Will she fight him now that she has returned to her mind? The time they had shared in this state of illusion was not nearly long enough. Would he be able to let her go now if she asked it of him?

The music ends leaving the room flickering in the glow of candles and a silence that consumes them both. She steps back. The slightest of movements that to Hannibal feels like a gap that stretches miles wide. Her eyes find his face.

"How long?" Her words are almost as soft as the piano that had pulled her from him. They hold no accusation. They hardly have any tone at all. Their monotone quality pangs Hannibal with a brief flash of panic. Surely he had not broken her mind?

"Two weeks." he hands her a response almost as void of feeling. Almost. Concern sneaks itself in to his reply like the guilt he feels gnawing at him. It is forren. The distance he feels between them is even more so. Despite his outer calm he feels his heart begin to pick up speed. No amount of preparation would have made this easier. A butterfly cannot stay in its cocoon forever however, and he couldn't keep Clarice's wings clipped, despite how he ached for her to fly alongside of him.

"Other than my mind, what else have you violated?"

These words came from her lips softly, but they cut him deeply with how visibly upset she was. Her hand had gone to her hair, twisting it around her finger. Still better then a cuff around his wrist, he thought. Her shoulders had tensed and she appeared to rest on the edge of fight or flight. Starling was not the type to run but would she be the type to fly?

"Come now Clarice what kind of a man do you take me for? Nothing has been violated, especially not your mind. Some things were easier accepted when you were more, shall we say calm?"

"Some things? Accepted?" She was angry now. Her face tightened with it. "What exactly do you mean by things? Do you see me as so fragile, so soft, that I couldn't handle whatever these things are? Tell me Dr; was the short lived calm worth the breach of my trust for you? Was the ability to put your hands on me worth the sacrifice of my want for you to do so?"

"Was the acceptance and the ability to move past the death of your father worth the sacrifice of your moral code? Was a night of interrupted sleep, alone I might add, worth the risk that you may come to despise me? As humans, we are so stubborn to let go of these things. I helped you move past it as best I can. Your response is justified, but don't frame me as something I am not Clarice. Nothing I did was with the intent to violate. Give yourself time to think and remember. You came to me for the dance."

"And if I had come to your bed, would you have accepted me?" Her face was red with anger. Tears fell freely down her cheeks. It took a great deal of control for him to not touch her to wipe them away.

"Perhaps my dear, you should ask yourself what you would be more upset about. The idea of being in my bed, or the idea of me refusing you entry. Neither happened. Look past your anger Clarice. "

"You turned me to clay! You molded me in to what you wanted, and you expect me not to be angry with you?" Despite the fact she was shooting him a look that if it could would absolutely kill; she hadn't spoken of the FBI. Maybe this was progress?

Hannibal took a breath before he spoke. He found it surprisingly difficult to maintain calm around this woman. Nothing had ever been able to shake him like Clarice, with all her raw emotion and passion. "Clay wouldn't be so furious." His words were quiet. Suddenly he found himself very tired. Guilt was depleting his energy. His intent had only been to help, never hurt. Not her. He couldn't look at her in this state any more. He didn't want to think that he had caused it. As he stepped past her he had expected her to grab him, put the monster in its cage, but she let him pass. Something inside of him stung from the notion that perhaps she couldn't stand the thought of contact.

As her world fell to fragments around her, Clarice held her head in her hands. The tears that trailed down her cheeks stung with rage and betrayal. Internally she was seething, but at herself for letting Hannibal walk past her. Was her moral code worth sacrificing? In the back of her mind, past the blur of anger, she knew it had been cast aside long before he clouded her thoughts with hypnosis.


	2. 2

A/N: here is chapter two, it's a long one! I hope you like it J

Fighting an internal battle is exhausting. The silence that filled the room weighed her down until it became too heavy and Clarice sank to her knees. The dress bent with her figure as she slumped. Had he picked it out for her? Had they purchased it together? Would she have opposed if it wasn't to her liking? Had his mind control even allowed for her to be anything but compliant? Did he no longer want her now that she wasn't?

The last question made her breath hitch on a sob. Why did it matter if he wanted her or not. Pressing her fingers in to her temples did little to ease the building pressure in her head. Trying to calm herself she took a deep breath and began counting back from 10 in her mind. It was at 5 when a memory surfaced with little warning.

"I wasn't able to save them!" Agitation clung to her in waves. Breaths came fast and fingers trembled as they brushed tears away in frustration. Clarice sat huddled in front of an ornate fire, her knees up to her chin.

"The lambs or your father?" Hannibal was calm. His words were spoken softly to the frantic woman before him. Eyes traced the tears down her cheek, picked up the shake in her normally steady hand. A flash of concern. Perhaps he had pushed her too far.

"Both! I was too young, too frightened. And now, now I'm…I can't, I don't know how to," her words muffled as she hid her face in her knees. Shoulders began to visibly shake. Panic tightened around her, it became difficult to catch her breath.

Watching her struggle almost broke him. Externally calm was all that showed. "Clarice, you are neither of those things. You, my dear, are strong and brave, like a lion. Your past has shaped you, not hindered you. Listen to me, stay with me here. Count backwards with me and focus on my breathing, okay?" He saw her eyes peek up from her knees, the smallest of nods. "Good, 10…9…8…"

Movement pulled her from her memory. She wasn't ready to face him. Haste to stand made her careless and off balance. Panic as the ground rushed up to her face. Frustration at her legs for being asleep. The sinking feeling of falling. Impact never came. Why had she closed her eyes? When she opened them Hannibal was stepping back, hands up and open.

Had her mind not been so weighed down perhaps she could have found humour in this. Here was a man guilty of committing countless monstrosities, and he was holding his hands up to her in a stance of surrender. No, as an attempt to ease her mind. Just as he had when she began to panic. Just as he had when she woke up when he reassured her nothing physical had happened between them.

Suddenly guilt twisted her stomach. Why had she assumed the worst about him? In all their years of interacting, he had always been curtious to her. At times he had cut her to the quick with his relentless to the point bluntness, but he had always been polite about it. She was wearing a dress that probably cost one of her pay cheques, and she was angry with him for trying to help her through a mental roadblock. Deep down she knew she was holding to her emotions as a shield, but it still burned. It made all her little insecurities about the worlds of difference between them pop up and show their ugly little heads.

She could feel his eyes on her, quietly observing her. Were her thoughts transparent to him? Was her internal battle spelled out on her face for his amusement? More guilt, unexpected and painful. Her breath hitched on another sob. Anger at herself for not being able to keep it together. She watched as he started to step forward, and then stopped. The hesitancy in his motion made the guilt worse and she couldn't see his eyes through the tears that blurred her vision. Her lips moved as she soundlessly began to count backwards from 10.

He hated being like this. Feelings of unease were new to him. Annoyance flashed at having to tread with caution. Guilt that he was the cause of her pain. A flash of calm as his mind formed the connection to the words her lips were counting. Soundlessly he mirrored her words, lowering his eyes from her face. What would she say when they got to one? How could he justify his actions when constantly met with a wall of anger? He should have allowed her to heal in her own way, with his help if she wanted it. His lips stopped moving, and they were only at 4.

She had been watching him. This became apparent to Hannibal when her lips also stopped. Neither one could look in to the others eyes. He wondered if avoiding his were as difficult for Clarice as it was avoiding hers. Admitting fault was not a feeling Hannibal was accustom to. Vulnerability was forren to him and though he would never admit to it out loud, he knew that in the moments to follow Clarice held the power to wound him deeply. He had not felt this kind of reluctance to speak freely for a very long time. Only one other person had had that power over him, and she was unable to accept him for who he was. Perhaps the same would happen with Clarice. He had taken matters in to his own hands, and in turn may have created to great of a distance for words to mend.

"Allow me to apologize. In my haste to help you overcome your struggles, I overlooked the effect it would have upon you. I didn't take the time to reflect upon my reasoning for doing so and it appears, shamefully, my reasoning isn't just for your benefit. I had hoped that in accepting the death of your father, in fully being able to let him go, that perhaps you would not be so constricted by your morals. Your anger is justified, and while I never did anything to you physically to break your trust, I violated it mentally. For that I am deeply sorry. It appears I am not immune to acting irrational and making poor choices based on emotion. I do not like the effect you have on me."

Clarice blinked. The words he spoke were English but her mind couldn't pull them all together. He didn't like her? Did he want her to go? Did she want to go? Was he frustrated at himself for being a human? Opening her mouth she attempted to reply. "Was that why you attempted to mold me? Because you don't like the effect I have on you? Did you really think me accepting the death of my father would make me want you less?" She felt the blood leave her face the moment she said it. Would he allow her time to fix her Freudian slip? She watched him closely as his jaw tensed, but he did not speak. "I mean more." She shook her head frantically, trying to unscramble her words. Unfortunately for her he wouldn't let it go this time.

"Freudian Clarice, have you heard of him?"

It was her turn to clench her jaw. "No." Could she have growled the answer any more? Why was she turning this in to a battle of wills when she knew he would win it? Why couldn't she just admit that she cared for him, had for a very long time, and that he knew her better then she sometimes knew herself?

"Come now my dear, I hardly think you're convincing yourself, let alone me."

How did things escalate from being emotionally vulnerable, to some sort of playful banter? Was this his attempt to distract her from the issue at hand? What was the issue at hand again? She was the one that told him the truth. Throwing her hands up she huffed out a breath. "I can't do this with you right now." Even to her ears her words sounded like that of a petulant child.

"With me or with yourself Clarice?"

There he went again with his cutting logic, and his ability to see right through her. "If you're able to see me so clearly, why did you feel like you had to cloud my mind for me to accept you?"

"Do you?"

Again with the difficult questions. She wasn't ready to answer yet. She had to take some time to work things out within herself. If she told him this, would he let her go? What were his expectations of her now that all was in the open?

"I don't know." Her words were quiet, and again reminded her of a child.

"Yes you do," his words were spoken just as softly.

"Can you please just let me figure it out? Without all your mind games and twisting? I just need time to come to terms with…" her words trailed off.

"To terms with? When people talk, they finish their thought process do they not?"

She growled low in her throat. "Hannibal, I swear to god!" She jumped as she realized how she had addressed him. Briefly fear flashed in her mind, never forget what he is.

Nothing made it past him. "Do you think we have not, at the very least, made it to the point now where we can address one another by our first names? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression this relationship was not a professional one."

She couldn't help but snort. "No kidding." She had mumbled it under her breath but he had heard her, unsurprisingly.

"Clarice, I am not a threat to you. Believe it or not, the arrangement was a temporary one. There are plenty of women out there who are all too happy to be meek and boring, and you are anything but. You test my limits in patience but you are not in danger, not from my hand. I can't say the same about that mind of yours and the circles it spins however that, my dear, is a danger to you. I do not wish to change you; I only wanted to help you look past what was holding you back. You are far too strong willed to be changed in to anything you are not. Had you not been somewhat open to the acceptance of things nothing I have done would have made a difference."

She was still replaying the way his name had felt rolling off her tongue and here he was speaking again. Struggling to keep up with his words was frustrating. It always felt like she was one step behind him. "I just need time, okay? I need to adjust to you in my space with a clear head. I need to try and relax and lower my defences a bit. I can't do that when it feels like we are on the edge of a cliff. Can you please just let me figure this, whatever this is out? I know your right; I just need time to process everything. I'm hurt you didn't trust me enough to let me adjust to you on my own. I need to see that you would actually want me like this; because I can't believe you really would when all I have to go on is the last two weeks where you had me as a mold so to speak. If the problems are solved and you've won the prize, then what is there? What happens when the prize gets annoying, or doesn't fit your expectations and you decide you're done?"

"Careful Clarice, your insecurities are showing. It appears you have more to prove to yourself then I do to you. Take the time you need. If you wish to leave, your welcome to do so."

"No," frustration filled her words, "I don't want to leave! How did you get I want to leave from that? It's the last thing I want to do. I just worry that after everything settles you will want me to, that I won't be enough."

Sighing Hannibal met her eyes. "Trust and time. I know I have lost one, but the other is easily given. Now, if your agreeable I would like to start preparing dinner. It's been a long day and a meal would do us both some good."

Dinner, the thought of food made her stomach growl. What had they been eating the past few weeks? Again the colour drained from her face. He never missed a beat and knew exactly where her mind was going.

"No Clarice, nothing has been consumed, or will be consumed you would object to. Sadly you prefer white to red wine, but some things are excusable."

Had he just winked at her as he turned to walk out? Would she ever be able to read him the way he did her? Sighing she made her way to her room to decompress before dinner. Half way there it struck her how odd it was that she already knew the house like the back of her hand even though it felt like she was just now seeing it for the first time.


	3. 3

A/N: On to chapter 3 after a delay due to emotional stress.

Closing the door behind her, Clarice took in the room she had slept in for the past 2 weeks. The bed had been made and sat against the far wall. Briefly she wondered if she would have made it freely or if it had been something she was programed to do. The thought struck her as odd, that her mind was something that could be given instructions to follow like that of a machine. How deeply had she been influenced by his mind control?

Walking across the room her fingers absently trailed over various pieces of furniture as she walked passed. Here was the curve of a chair, the hard wood of a dresser. Opening the drawers revealed various clothes all in her size. The closet held even more, fabrics that felt exquisite. She knew the price probably matched the quality of the outfits. Shoes lined the floor beneath the dresses. Had he matched them up? Did he pick out her outfits daily? What was she expected to show up for dinner wearing? Was it possible to find anything that didn't look amazing?

Smirking Clarice found herself rummaging through outfit after outfit. If she was expected to play obediently she would show him her thoughts on the subject. Kneeling down she removed a pair of shoes and set them beside the bed where an outfit was taking shape. She found herself chuckling despite her agitation. These ups and downs were the way it appeared to be with her regarding Hannibal.

Walking to the dresser she contemplated the contents until finding the perfect top. Crossing to the bed again she felt her face relax in to a grin. Dinner should prove to be very interesting. Taking one last look at the ridiculous outfit on the neatly made bed she turned and made her way to the spacious on sweet bathroom. Time to wash away the past few weeks.

How many bottles of bath oils were too many? The obsurtidy of the question had Clarice snickering as she surveyed the labels spread out before her. She noticed that the lavender had been well used. Had she needed relaxing these past few weeks? Had it been her choice to go with the calming scent or his suggestion? Despite herself she raised the small bottle to her nose and inhaled. She loved the scent, but would never admit it. She knew as she replaced the bottle that despite his influence she would have picked it out.

As the bath filled with water she added a few drops of oil. The scent of eucalyptus soon permeated the air. Steam from the hot water combined with the scent soon engulfed the room. Letting her clothes fall to the floor Clarice closed her eyes as she lowered herself in to the tub.

As he prepared the food in the kitchen Hannibal's nose picked up the scent from above. Immediately he noticed the change. Something so irrelevant shouldn't have made him pause but he found himself momentarily still. Was her goal to change everything about herself now simply to defy him? Sighing softly he knew the only one she would end up defying was herself.

Mixing a pot on the stove he clenched his jaw. He would accept whatever she threw his way. If she really thought he didn't like her defiance then she hardly knew him at all. Inhaling deeply he relaxed as the scent mingled with the aroma of the cooking food. Clarice was always an adventure and this one he would take in stride.

As he removed the pot the sound of draining water met his ears. It wouldn't be long now until he was face to face with her again. These past few weeks had been difficult for him despite his outer calm. Seeing her struggle had often left him exhausted at the end of the night. Hearing her crying alone kept him up for hours, and it was torture to not hold her. He refused to allow himself closer to her then necessary however. To do so would be improper, and only fuel his hope for more.

As he carried various items to the table Hannibal realized he was nervous. They had shared so many meals here, but he had always led the conversation. Tonight would be led by Clarice. As he filled her glass with the white he knew she enjoyed he felt a pang of trepidation. Perhaps she would decide to leave . As he corked the wine Hannibal was hit with another wave of guilt. No amount of finery could undo the damage he had inflicted upon her trust.

The towel engulfed her body as Clarice dried herself off. As she wiped the steam from the mirror she gazed upon her reflection. Her skin was flushed from the heat of the bath. Would she have stood here these past weeks agonizing over the proper shade to spread on her lips? Shrugging she turned from the glass and reached for a brush. As she ran it through her hair she wondered how she had worn it. Up or down? Curled or straightened? Replacing the brush she left the steam of the bathroom and crossed to the bed.

As she dressed herself she couldn't help but giggle again. The outfit she had thrown together was terrible. The jogging pants were comfortable and snug, a stark contrast with the stiletto heels she slipped on. The white lines that wrested against the side of her legs looked awful when paired with the elegance of the burgundy low cut dress that rested above her knee. Smirking as she walked over to her dresser she fastened a necklace that held a deep green stone around her neck. Tilting her head she placed some pink stoned earrings in her ears. Looking one last time at her reflection she ran her hands through her still damp hair, messing it up. As she left the room she found herself laughing.

Sitting down Hannibal heard the click of heals descending. Taking a breath he raised his wine glass to his lips and froze. Clarice entered the room in a cloud of eucalyptus and pulled out her chair. He reminded himself to swallow his wine, although he found doing so to be difficult. Raising his eyebrows he took her in. Her hair was a damp mess that fell around her face. The earrings and necklace she wore were different colours. The dress was a burgundy that complemented her skin tone. The white stripe on the pants she wore stood out like a sore thumb. Lastly the silver heals she wore finished off the look. He exhaled the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. In his head he found himself counting to 10. In her eyes he saw a gleam of something he couldn't place, defiance perhaps, or possibly mischief.

"It appears I have misjudged the dress code for tonight, I shall return momentarily."

She opened her mouth to say something as Hannibal stood from the table. Her words didn't come quick enough though and Hannibal left the room.

Looking down at the plate before her Clarice heard her stomach growl. The chicken looked and smelled amazing. Her eyes found the wine glass and she raised it to her nose inhaling. Deciding to play this game all the way through she sighed, preparing herself for the next step. Reaching across the table she pulled Hannibal's red towards her and replaced it for her white.

As she sniffed the wine Clarice felt her heartbeat increase. What if he didn't come back? Had the outfit been too much? What if she had offended him in some way? Once again her eyes went to the meal before her. Obviously he had put great effort in to preparing this for her. Sighing she placed the wine glass back on the table. She should go change.

"Apologies for the delay my dear." She heard him before she saw him. Breathing a sigh of relief Clarice looked up. Unexpected laughter burst from her in waves.

Hannibal was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Who even owned a Hawaiian shirt! It was colourful and gotty and Clarice couldn't catch her breath. A ridiculous hat sat on top of his head, and he appeared to be wearing gum boots. Her stomach hurt from laughing so hard. She felt tears sliding down her cheeks from her amusement, and she could only point at him as he made his way back across the table.

Thinking she had her amusement under control she gulped down a breath. As he sat down the hat fell covering his face and she found herself howling again. As he righted the hat he winked at her and she raised her hands in surrender. This was not the response she had expected from him. Wiping tears from her cheeks she met his eyes and smiled. "Well played," she met his eyes as she raised her glass, "you win this round."

Hannibal picked up his glass, realizing she had swapped them. "As I am victorious in this game I was unaware we were playing, does this mean I get to watch you drink that entire glass of wine?" His eyes sparkled as he saw the woman across from him shudder. "Come on now Clarice, don't be a poor looser. Drink up." As she raised the wine glass to her lips he chuckled softly.

His reaction to her outfit had been unexpected. Was this a challenge or acceptance of her? As the wine filled her mouth she made a face. How could people drink red? She had closed her eyes when she swallowed and jumped when his hand stopped her from taking another sip. Opening her eyes she found him beside her holding her glass.

"You make it look painful." His words were soft as he removed the glass from her hand and replaced it with her own. "While I will never understand your preference, it is your choice to make. Seeing you dislike something so much, it's not enjoyable for me. You have made your point very loud and clear Clarice." Returning to the other side of the table he took his seat.

"What was my point?" Her eyes met his. In the midst of the laughter and the absurdity of the situation she had forgotten the issue at hand. It came back to her now, and she felt it weighing her down. "You know what/? Don't answer that please. Can we just enjoy this meal, in these awful outfits together? The rest can wait."

Hannibal nodded. "I hope you enjoy your dinner Clarice." His words were genuine as he picked up his fork. He knew they couldn't avoid things forever, but if she was willing to dance around them he would gladly waltz with her.


End file.
